Bizarre Love Quadrilateral
by tangledhair
Summary: The Weasley twins use a prank lovelust powder against schoolyard nemeses Harry and Draco- but the prank soon takes on a life of its own. Multiple pair potential.
1. The Powder of Love

A/N: This is going to be a shorter, lighter story than A Boy, Lost. I wanted to laugh—and I had this story idea—so here's the first installment. Let me know if you think it's worth continuing.

X

XIX

XIXIX "The Powder of Love" XIXIX

"Gred?"

"Yes, Forge?"

Fred Weasley came bounding into the kitchen and plopped himself in the chair across from his twin brother George, who looked up from the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. Fred pulled a face and leaned forward to extract the offending reading material from the hands of his twin.

"Honestly, George, why do you read this smut, this filth, this…"

"Good one, today, actually—featuring our favorite Boy Wonder."

Fred glanced down and read the headlines aloud, "_One Year Since Golden Boy Vanquished You-Know-Who, and Everyone is Still Really Pleased._ Blech! What garbage! But speaking of the Boy Who Funded Our First Shoppe…" Fred paused to flash a vicious smile, "Don't you think it's been just a bit too long since we last pranked him?"

George cocked his head to the side to consider. "As a matter of fact, you're right! It's been months! We've been—"

"Sleeping on the job. Well, no more, my dear brother!" He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small sack and whispered conspiratorially, "Feast your eyes on the latest, greatest, Weasley Wizard Wheezes prank powder!"

The glint in his eye was catching. George leaned forward, salivating at the excitement of a coming prank. "What does it do?" he asked.

Fred slouched back and waved his hand in a blasé manner. "Well that is the thing, isn't? What does it do?"

George grinned. "Meaning you haven't tested it yet, and you—"

"Need a guinea pig," agreed Fred. "And that's where our lovely Mr. Potter comes in!"

"Okay then, what is it _supposed_ to do?" qualified George.

Fred leaned in once again. "It's a love potion. But it only works on people you hate."

"It makes people you hate love you?"

"No, no, no! It makes you love them! Except maybe 'love' is a strong word. Hmm, what's the word I'm looking for?" asked Fred, tapping his chin.

"Lust?" George supplied, no fool to Fred's innocent play.

Fred laughed. "Hornier than a satyr in spring! And these um, shall we say 'amorous' feelings are directly proportional to the base level of hatred—so the more you hate them, the more you want them!" he declared triumphantly, but then added, "At least, that's what it's supposed to do. Of course, I'd test it myself, but I don't hate anyone—except Lucius Malfoy, and I'm not about to go scampering off to Azkaban to see if he fancies a quick one."

George nodded, "Say no more, brother dear." He folded his hands on the table and took on a more business-like tone. "But do tell me about this promised prank."

Fred bowed his head. "With pleasure. Stage one—we coerce friends of the two people currently enrolled in Hogwarts who most notably hate each other—"

"Not Draco Malfoy?!" choked George. When Fred nodded, he screamed in laughter.

"We coerce their friends to tamper with their food supply just slightly," continued Fred loudly, but George only laughed harder. "Then we wait for a good public snog to occur—" George fell out of his chair. "And then, we market our product, with proven results."

"Harry will kill us!" said George, carefully crawling back into his chair after regaining himself a bit.

Fred winked. "Only if we get caught."

XIXIX

"So, I assume we are to enlist the help of our dear fellow prankster, the young Lady Weasley," said George as he and Fred carefully packaged the Powder of Love, as they were currently calling it.

"You assume correctly," agreed Fred. "Our youngest sister Ginny will most certainly be a party to our high jinx, as she is a close, personal friend of our target, and therefore has access to his food for tainting purposes."

"And who might our Slytherin contact be?"

Fred smiled. "That would be our good friend Blaise Zabini."

"Blaise?" asked George, stunned. He had expected Crabbe or Goyle, as they were dimwitted enough to buy any excuse the Weasley twins might make up for the necessity of secretly tampering with Draco's food, or perhaps one of the younger Slytherin students seeking revenge against Draco's notoriously bad temper—but Blaise Zabini?! "He's far too clever," argued George. "He's not a trouble maker, and last I heard, he and Draco were still in good graces."

"Which is why we use blackmail," said Fred off-handedly.

George narrowed his brow. "We don't have any blackmail against him," he said reasonably.

Fred looked highly offended. "We didn't," he admitted. "But then I made some." He walked to his desk, opened his top drawer that was charmed to only open for himself or George, and pulled out a stack of glossy pictures. He handed one to his twin.

George's eyes bulged and his jaw dropped as he stared at the picture. "You've got to be kidding me!" he exclaimed. "There is NO WAY!"

He was staring at a moving, and very graphic, wizard's photograph of Blaise Zabini caught in the act of a threesome with Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle—the two largest and most disgusting people George had ever laid eyes on. George turned back to Fred and stammered, "This is faked, right?"

"No, no, no!" said Fred. "The picture is one hundred percent real, as are all these others." He held up the stack. "But the characters in the photo are courtesy of a little bit of Polyjuice Potion…"

George laughed. "Of course, his classmates wouldn't care…"

"Nor would his mum," finished Fred.

"So who is it really?"

Fred gathered up the photos and made a lot of noise while shoving them back in the drawer, all the while mumbling, "Those twins we met in Brussels."

George's face fell. "What?! You had them both?! Without sharing?!"

Fred turned around with a pained expression. "I needed them, George—for the prank to work. You understand, right?" he pleaded.

George shot him a glare, but Fred could tell he was already forgiven, so he added, "Anyway, I don't think those chickies are really our type. They actually seemed to _like_ being Crabbe and Goyle—they keep calling wanting to have another go."

George sulked as he continued to package the Powder. "When does this prank start?" he finally mumbled.

Fred grinned, glad the conversation was back on comfortable ground.

"Tomorrow!"

XIXIX

XIX

X


	2. Motivations

X

XIX

XIXIX "Motivations" XIXIX

Ginny really didn't think it would work.

Human sexuality was a broad spectrum ranging between the vast extremes of straight and gay. Most of wizardkind happily fell somewhere in the middle, opening themselves up to a variety of experiences during their experimentation years, before typically, although not always, settling down with someone of the opposite sex with whom they would raise a lovely young wizarding family.

She looked at Harry sadly for a moment. Things never did seem to work out for him. But if she could help at all, she was willing to give it a try. And if it didn't work, then hey, it probably would be a funny prank.

What Ginny didn't know was that just before meeting with her, her two older brothers had had a stroke of genius and decided to lie to her about the true nature of their prank, just in case she was susceptible to unfortunate feelings of guilt that just might accompany setting a good friend up to get all loopy for one of the school's biggest pricks. So instead of telling her that the powder she was going to put in Harry's food was supposed to make him all hot and bothered over Draco Malfoy, they told her that it was supposed to make him irresistible to whoever it was that he was attracted to.

And as easily embarrassed as Harry got, and as shy as Harry was, Ginny had to admit that it would be pretty damn funny to watch his reaction if Luna Lovegood were to suddenly become overwhelmed with desire for him, and vocally and publicly declare as much.

Poor Harry.

After having spent the first six years of his wizarding life constantly in conflict with a deranged dark wizard, Harry had finally vanquished him a year ago by successfully concocting God Water, which was theorized to even be capable of putting out the fires of Hell. Harry had dumped a bucket of this water on the Dark Lord, and Voldemort had promptly melted into oblivion, screaming about it all the way like some cackling old witch.

Harry had spent the next year trying to get on with his life, or more to the point, trying to get one. He turned back to his studies like a normal student, and fretted over what he would do after graduation as though he wasn't the Boy Who Lived and would be hired on anywhere, and he had developed a deep crush on, and perhaps even fallen in love with, Luna Lovegood.

Who was a total dyke.

It was even rumored that Abram Sevenson, seventh year Ravenclaw and absolutely the hottest guy at Hogwarts, had orchestrated a stunt so that Luna walked in on him in the shower, and she DIDN'T BAT AN EYE!!!! I mean, _Abram Sevenson_ all naked and soapy and she didn't jump all over him! There was no way she could be even remotely inclined toward the male persuasion.

And poor Harry had it _bad_. She had been so nice to him after the war had ended, and she had just treated him like a friend—not like a savior—so it was no wonder he fell for her, but… damn. He had never had much luck with the ladies, but now Ginny was wondering if that just had to do with his taste.

All the same, she managed to casually reach over his plate for a breakfast pastry and sprinkle just a tiny bit of powder on his food. Ginny was good at pranks like this and no one was the wiser, nor would they be _even if_ she had to do this every breakfast for the next month before he graduated. And she felt no shame, because maybe it would help her friend win a little love into his life.

And regardless, it would be funny.

There was a murmur at the door and Harry and Ginny both looked up to see Malfoy entering the Great Hall, late as always, and surrounded by his goon squad.

XIXIX

Who the hell did they think they were?! Blackmailing a Zabini! And laughing about it!

Those disgusting pictures were so very obviously faked, because there was no way in the wizarding world that anyone would believe that Blaise Zabini—young, handsome, charismatic Slytherin—would ever drop his standards low enough to shag Crabbe and Goyle. Nice blokes, they were, but horribly huge, and deeply disgusting.

But the twins did have the right idea about with concocting those photographs, because enough people were jealous of Blaise that would have a field day if they ever got their hands on this bit of faux evidence. And his mum would just have a heart attack at the shock of seeing Crabbe and Goyle naked with her son. It wouldn't matter if the photos were real or not—because she'd be dead.

So Blaise would acquiesce to their desires, turning his best mate into a guinea pig for their latest experiment—a love potion of some sort.

He had sworn his revenge though, and the twins had laughed.

"Blaise," said Fred, or maybe it had been George, "_That_ is half the fun!"

In the meantime, Blaise had his own plans for this love potion.

Draco wasn't much the socialite anymore since his father had been locked in Azkaban. He had told Blaise that that took much of the pressure off of him so that he didn't always have to be at the forefront of everything. Make no mistake—he still called himself the Malfoy heir (as a favor to his mother, because actually he was now the head of the Malfoy house since his father had been imprisoned for life), and he lived up to that title with his fine aristocratic features, his elegant skill at all he did, and his refined ability to lead even the most obstinate of followers. But he had withdrawn somewhat from his social obligations over the past year, which meant that he spent most of his time in the solitary company of his best mate.

And if Draco Malfoy was going to be under the influence of a love potion, Blaise Zabini meant to use this unfortunate situation to his advantage. Draco Malfoy would be his.

Draco was in a right _mood _this morning. After showering, he had apparently walked in on Crabbe and Goyle in the throws of their lovemaking. It was not a mental picture anyone wanted to have. Blaise shuddered. His mental image now included himself, thanks to those extremely obviously faked pictures—and that was definitely not a mental image he wanted to have.

He poured his friend a glass of pumpkin juice, stealthily spiking it with the powder the Weasleys had provided.

Draco gulped down his juice, eating swiftly, but with a refined grace. Blaise wondered how long it would take for the powder to kick in. He decided to try his luck.

He turned to Draco with a concerned look on his face. "Draco," he said softly, "Are you feeling alright? You look a bit pale." He casually reached up and put his hand to Draco's forehead while gazing into his eyes. He turned his wrist and brought his hand down to Draco's shoulder, but not before stroking his cheek just slightly with the back of his hand.

"Sod off, Blaise," said Draco irritably. "You know perfectly well what's wrong, and I'll not have you laughing at me about it."

Maybe not just yet then. Blaise decided to try again later.

They talked about neutral topics for the rest of breakfast—schoolwork mainly, as their NEWTS were coming up soon. They had a long morning ahead of them—double Potions followed by double Transfiguration, and both with Gryffindor to boot! Professors Snape and McGonagall had both become real slave drivers since their OWLS, and with NEWTS so close, their classes were nearly unbearable and each night's homework seemed to take weeks to complete.

They talked about the hardships of their classes as though it were no big deal. Each understood the other's complaints of their academic struggle, but they _were_ Slytherin after all. Everyone knew that Slytherins could do anything, so they must not let on to others that they worried whether they really could.

Blaise and Draco gathered their things and headed to Potions without waiting for Crabbe and Goyle, whom Draco had given specific instructions to "stay the Hell away" from him.

Just as they reached the door to the Great Hall, they ran into—surprise, surprise—the Gryffindor trio.

Draco opened his mouth for his usual slander against Potter, but stopped suddenly, as though the words caught in his throat. Potter stood there as well, his mouth slightly opened. He would have been a mirror image to Draco if it weren't for his sloppiness, and that unsightly blemish on his forehead.

"Uh, Harry?" said the walking encyclopedia, Hermione Granger, looking either confused or concerned—it was so hard to tell with these muggleborns.

They all stood there for a moment, looking at each other, when Blaise came to the rescue.

"Well, exciting as this conversation is, Draco and I really do have much more important things to be doing than consorting with… your sort." He grabbed Draco's elbow and tugged gently, but Draco stood there, staring at Potter with the strangest expression on his face. "Uh, Draco?" said Blaise, a bit confused, and a bit concerned.

"Hi, Harry," said a dreamy voice. Luna Lovegood had jut wandered over as though she had only the vaguest of notions that she had to exit through this door in order to get to her classes. She shoved her overly large glasses up her nose and stared up at Harry with a dazed smile. Blaise sniffed at the girl—she had a dozen different braids in her hair of all different sizes, and pointing all different directions, giving her a completely asymmetrical look.

Potter smiled his goofy grin and turned to Luna, "Er, um, hi, Luna," he said, as eloquent as always. "How was your weekend?"

Luna looked around. "Since I saw you last night, you mean? Just fine. I've been researching Farnkel Lewses for my father. You know, I think I might become a reporter…"

Draco shook his head, finally broken from his bizarre trance and turned to Blaise with his brow furrowed. "Yeah, come on, Blaise. We don't want to be late today."

XIXIX

XIX

X

A/N: And thus- the explanation about the whole "quadrilateral" business.

First off, about the use of "muggleborn" instead of "mudblood", if anyone noticed…

For this story, I am equating the use of the word "mudblood" with the use of the word "n...r". It's a hateful and disgusting insult that comes from bigotry and nothing more. Adult aristocratic bigots might teach their children the values that inspire them to use such words, but they would not use such words themselves (except in tasteless jokes and in 'boy's club' settings, and the like). Likewise, their children would probably use such words until they grew up a bit and realized that people who hear them using such words think of them as low-class bigots, when in fact, they are high-class bigots. So Blaise would think of Hermione as less-than-witch, but would simply call her "muggleborn" while thinking of her in sub-human terms.

We'll see if we can't open their minds a bit in this story, but I'm not going to force it if they're just not ready. You can't change people unless they're willing to change, you know.

But anyway, I hope this chapter served as another good tease. Next chapter, we get to see what happens when we put two people, who hate each other and who are under the influence of the Powder of Love, together in stressful circumstances—most notably, in Potions and Transfiguration classes.

I feel the coming of wacky high jinx!

Wintermoon2: Yay! Thank you!

Shania Maxwell: Here it is!

Isis-mystic: Thanks!

CS Whitewolf: Coming soon to a theatre near you.

tWiSt3d: Shrieks with excitement- thanks, doll.

Dracos-hot: Crazy, wacky, nutsy, they are.

Mystikal M3ntalnezz: Of course! I always update. Sometimes it takes longer than others, so be warned.

Ebony Catastrophe: Eep! Thanks.

Takuto-kun: Don't make it too embarrassing? Are you mad? :)

Elle: frantic bunny watch-checking Yipes! I'm late!

Usually Immaculate Aristocrat: My, you do have a way of phrasing things so that I giggle and feel complimented all at once! Thanks!

Insanitys Plaything: Why, thank you. I hope I continue to amuse you.


	3. Disgustingly Erotic Fantasies

A/N: Usually Immaculate Aristocrat made a good point about my use of the word 'dyke' but not 'mudblood'. So let me apologize if I offended any readers, straight or gay, because honestly, I just forget that 'dyke' can be used as a pejorative term. A few years ago, a group of my friends who are fags and dykes made me an 'honorary dyke' because I'm a feminist who doesn't shave her legs and most people think I'm a lesbian anyway until they meet my husband. And plus I champion gay and lesbian causes. So, know that unless I specifically say that those terms were used in an insulting way, that I am saying them in a fond tone of voice, which may not translate well in print, so just take my word for it.

X

XIX

XIXIX "Disgustingly Erotic Fantasies" XIXIX

Harry swallowed hard when Snape walked into the Potions classroom, robes billowing. He had just barely made it to class on time after talking with Luna in the hallway for a few minutes. He had thrown himself into the conversation with her, and was desperately trying to convince himself that the 'uncomfortable situation' currently hidden beneath his robes had only to do with her, and not with his brief and surprisingly erotic encounter with Malfoy.

Because Luna was so awesome. She was the only person in the whole school (other than his few close, platonic friends) who treated Harry like an actual human being. She didn't gaze at him star-struck. She didn't drool over him. She was perfectly friendly, and so very, very… Luna. She had to have been the reason. It had to have been her. It had to have been.

Because Draco Malfoy was so…

Harry had never before noticed how incredibly good-looking Draco Malfoy truly was. Sure, he had heard others talk about it from time to time, but Malfoy had such a vile personality that Harry saw him physically as similarly vile.

But then this morning, as they were leaving the Great Hall, something had snapped. For once, Malfoy had not insulted him, and for once, Harry had to admit that Malfoy was perhaps not the ugliest of people on Earth.

Perhaps, he was even a bit attractive.

Perhaps, Harry had wanted to rip his clothes off and shag him senseless right there in front of Hermione and Ron.

And THAT was exactly why Harry was currently repeating a mantra of '_Luna Lovegood is sexy, Luna Lovegood is sexy, Luna Lovegood is sexy, Luna Lovegood is sexy…'_ over and over in his head, and concentrating so hard on not looking across the classroom at Draco that he was actually sweating a bit.

Staring at his Potions text laid out before him, he slowly felt his hard-on subside. Luna had gone to her own class, away from Harry, so he was no longer aroused. It had been Luna all along.

He pulled out his quill and turned to the front of the classroom where Snape was explaining the instructions on the board, and he let out a faint whimper. Snape was snarling on about the intricacies and delicacies of bone regrowth potions, angrily snapping his pointer toward the board, but he may as well have been giving Harry a lap dance for the effect it was having on him.

Harry was definitely sweating now, and an altogether alarming amount of blood was coursing to his groin, throbbing in time with Snape's intense lecture. Harry was entranced, noticing suddenly every little movement Snape made. Snape stalked across the front of the room, his robes billowing out behind him, and Harry wondered what he might find beneath those robes. The flick of his wrist as he summoned two similar looking herbs that would be added into the potion at different times and in different amounts sent a shiver down Harry's spine as his hormonal imagination placed that wrist—those hands—on Harry's body. And oh Merlin, those snarling lips…

But the thing was—Snape was one of the ugliest people on Earth.

He wasn't even a bit attractive.

And Harry wanted very much to rip his clothes off and shag him right there in front of the class.

Harry shuddered at the thought, which was both compellingly erotic—and sufficiently disgusting—to make him want to vomit. He glanced over to Malfoy, who was focused very intently (more intently than usual) on Snape. Visions of having his way with the Slytherin slammed into his brain one more time, and Harry could admit to himself that he found Malfoy attractive. The idea of actually shagging him was somewhat repugnant, but not to the point of making him physically ill.

Malfoy turned his head and Harry caught his eye and was overcome by a momentary fear that he was going to start coming in the middle of Potions class. Only a spark of fear of the never-ending humiliation that would surely follow gave him the strength to rip his eyes away.

He didn't even want to think about how many points Snape would take from Gryffindor…

There was a loud snap and Harry turned back to the front of the classroom in time to see Snape glare him down, his arm outstretched to the side, holding the pointer against the board.

"Mr. Potter," he hissed, and Harry raised his Occlumency shields to full-blast, "If you cannot bring yourself to pay attention in this class, you will find yourself down in these dungeons every night this week—_alone_ with _me_."

He smiled nastily and Harry gulped, thinking feverishly, '_McGonagall naked, McGonagall naked, McGonagall naked, McGonagall naked!_'

"Yes, sir," he managed to mutter, turning his eyes back to his book.

"Don't get smart with me," snapped Snape. "I can fill your calendar with detentions! Just wait till I get my hands on you!"

__

'McGONAGALL NAKED! McGONAGALL NAKED! McGONAGALL NAKED!'

Harry kept this new, less appealing mantra running through his thoughts for the rest of class, while he worked mechanically, wanting only to finish his potion, and not come, before the end of class. Oh, and he really, really, really wanted class to end.

As soon as the bell rang, Harry cleaned up his workstation and swept quickly out of the classroom. Hermione trotted to keep up with him on the way to Transfiguration.

"Harry! Harry, what's wrong? You were acting all weird in class."

"Nothing," said Harry automatically as Hermione caught up with him. In the instant before he looked over his shoulder, it occurred to him to be afraid that he would be similarly hormonal toward her. She was very pretty, after all. _But too late!_ He had looked.

And it was just Hermione, as always. Harry sighed in relief.

"Don't give me that," she said. "What's going on?"

"Nothing!" Harry croaked, "I'm fine!" But he knew she wasn't going to let it go without some sort of excuse for his behavior. "It's uh… boy problems," he said.

Hermione had used the excuse of 'girl problems' to him too many times to count. He had never asked questions, and hoped she wouldn't either. But Hermione rolled her eyes and said, "Harry, guys don't have 'boy problems' like girls have 'girl problems', so what are you—"

She cut off her sentence as a thought occurred to her. She glanced down ever so briefly. Harry automatically lowered his books, afraid that his robes weren't covering the residual evidence of the effects Snape and Malfoy had had on him.

Hermione blushed immediately and said, "Oh. Never mind. Let's go to class!"

XIXIX

It was a total nightmare.

As Draco and Blaise cleaned up their Potions workstations, Draco was very careful not to turn his eyes to a certain Gryffindor who was frantically rushing about to get out of the classroom. He wondered briefly what important obligation The Prat Who Lived had between Potions and Transfiguration. Maybe he was going off to try to impress Luna Lovegood into become straight. That poor, deluded soul.

Draco slapped his head in frustration. Had he just felt sympathy for Potter's plight to woo a lesbian?! Because wanting to shag him was one thing. That was physical. That was carnal. That was beyond what common sense could control. (Although, granted, the extent of his desire to shag Potter on this particular day was alarming to say the least.) But sympathy? Sympathy?!

"Uh, Draco?" said Blaise tentatively.

Draco shot an angry glance to the door as Harry practically ran through it, and immediately regretted it because his erection stiffened right back up, full force. He leaned forward uneasily, trying to regain control. He turned to Blaise and rested a hand on his chest to steady himself.

Blaise clasped his hand over Draco's and looked him deep in the eye in a way that Draco wasn't sure he was entirely comfortable with.

He jerked his hand away and stood up straight without too much effort. "What?" he snarled, but then felt bad when Blaise flinched. He must have imagined that look. Blaise was his best friend, after all. "Sorry," he said. "I'm just feeling weird today."

Blaise's eyes flashed with a smile, but it was gone as soon as it came, and Draco missed it completely. Blaise looked at him with concern. "What's wrong?"

And Draco was glad to have Blaise as a friend. As close as they were, he could be an arse and not worry about damaging their friendship, and he could then apologize for being an arse, and not have to worry about whether or not apologizing was the 'Malfoy thing to do' because Blaise would never call him on it. He was comfortable with Blaise, and he liked that.

"I don't know," he sighed as they finished cleaning up their area. "I just feel, ah, distracted today. I keep having the strangest thoughts, and they'd only go away when I focused solely on Snape. And I have a feeling our next class is going to be just as bad."

He wasn't lying.

But he was a bit embarrassed to tell the whole truth. This Potter thing was really freaking him out. It would take an idiot ('or a lesbian,' Draco smirked to himself) to fail to notice how very attractive Harry Potter was. Everyone at the school was drooling over him except for the one person Harry wanted to be drooling over him. It was an irony, really. Harry could have anyone in the school. Anyone except for Luna Lovegood and Draco Malfoy, that is.

Luna just didn't swing that way. Draco? Draco _wouldn't _swing that way.

It was _Potter_ for crying out loud! Didn't people realize how obnoxious and attention-seeking he was? Did no one else notice that he was a complete moron who stammered his way through even the simplest of sentences, and who only made it into all of his NEWT-level classes by way of _blatant favoritism_?!

All of that aside, Draco _was_ allowed to find him physically attractive. He was human, after all. But this roaring ball of hormones that attacked him today whenever he saw Potter was completely unacceptable! The only thing that had kept him in check during Potions class was being able to focus on Snape—a good man who Draco _respected_, but found entirely unattractive.

Draco steeled himself as he walked toward Transfiguration with Blaise. Potter would be there too. Draco felt a glimmer of dread in the pit of his stomach, but he knew what to do. He would just focus intently on McGonagall—that ugly old bat.

He walked into the classroom, and there was Potter, fidgeting in the front while he and that Granger person read over their notes from previous classes. Draco wanted to bend him over his desk and make him squirm, make him scream in pleasure.

He groaned, grabbing Blaise's shoulder for support. Blaise caught him under his arm.

"Draco," he whispered quietly. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Draco nodded, trying to look natural for the sake of anyone else who might be watching.

"Fine," he hissed back. "Let's sit in the front so I don't have to look at any other students. I want to be able to focus completely on the lesson."

That's exactly what they did. Potter was sitting four seats over to his left, so plenty of students blocked his view of him. Draco couldn't even see him in his periphery. He pulled out his books and got ready for class, relieved that he had solved the situation for the time being.

Blaise leaned over to him. "Do you want to talk about this later? We can skip lunch and head back to the dorms if you want some privacy."

Draco shook his head, slightly annoyed at Blaise's determination to get him to open up when he clearly did not want to. "I said I'm fine. I've got it under control."

He leaned back in his chair, finally allowing himself to relax a bit. McGonagall entered and he turned his eyes on her, admiring how catlike she was, and imagining running his hands over her lithe old body and nibbling her throat as she purred.

'Oh shit!' thought Draco, slamming himself forward on the desk. 'Not McGonagall too! Potter's bad enough.'

__

Threesome with Potter and McGonagall…

Draco's groin was aching. He peeked up to the front of the room one more time and McGonagall's tight-lipped, no-nonsense, stern lecture was an all out seduction to Draco.

Panicking, he looked down to his book and did what he always did when he was in danger of losing control… he thought derisively about his two buffoonish roommates.

__

'Crabbe and Goyle naked, Crabbe and Goyle naked, Crabbe and Goyle naked, Crabbe and Goyle naked…'

But no sooner than Draco had the image clear in his head from this morning's disgusting encounter, he felt a tightening in himself and was revolted to realize that his mental picture was actually turning him on more. He was going to come, right in the middle of Transfiguration!

"Gah!" he yelped, standing up suddenly and knocking his chair over backwards. He was hunched forward so that his robes would definitely cover telling evidence.

"Mr. Malfoy! Do sit down!" snapped the luscious lips of Professor McGonagall.

"Infirmary," Draco panted out, and then shoved his way past Blaise and out the door.

But he didn't go to the infirmary. He went straight to his dorm room and locked the door. He rummaged quickly through his trunk, pulling out an old porn mag he had gotten last year. He flipped through the pages until he found his favorite pic—an orgy of three witches and four wizards. All of them were incredibly good-looking and had especially beautiful bodies. They were in a huge, elegant room, and moved against each other in entirely enrapturing ways.

Draco wasn't about to come thinking about Potter. Potter was a prick. An attractive prick, but a prick. Draco did _not _want to have sex with him. He wasn't pureblood, he wasn't aristocratic. He was obnoxious. _These_ were beautiful people. _These_ were high-class people. _And that one guy there kind of looks like Potter…_

And Draco came.

'Damn.'

XIXIX

XIX

X

A/N:

Wintermoon2: Sorry, better keep that mental floss at ready. It'll be handy, trust me.

Shania Maxwell: Maybe if Blaise uses polyjuice to girl-ify himself… and duly noted, your vote for Harry/Draco togetherness in the end.

Merit Somnia: Happy and well? How bout none the worse for wear? Will ya settle for that?

Mystikal M3ntalnezz: Thank you, but really, you don't want to get the undiluted ideas in my brain. Poisonous, they are. Icky to boot. Catch ya later.

Hydrangea: Thank you. And um, Luna's just like that. Which might be why Harry thinks he has a chance…

Liber Creperum-LiberDiabolus: Thank you!

Mojo-jojo241: Yes! Yes you may!! Thank you. Hey, everyone! Go check out got some great fics on it, one of which may be mine!

tWiSt3d: Sorry! Sorry! Blaise wasn't really shagging them. Not to say that he won't… oh, um. Did I just say that? What? Concussion! What are we talking about? Who am I? Where am I? Oh, and um… This is the actual plot. It's a light story. Don't go looking for deep meanings. I'm just not up to it.

Isis-mystic: Thanks, and yes. But a sexy one at that.

CS Whitewolf: Ew. That exam sounds absolutely horrid. But it's behind you. One of these days, we'll all look back and laugh. Hope you liked this chapter too. Peace out, sweetie.

Takuto-kun: Ahhh, yesss…. Well, I hope I don't get too bad on this one. Funny, but not stupid… ooh, tough one. Can I do it? Dunno… I'll leave it up to you guys to decide. And I am going to be changing the point of view a lot. I'm trying to figure out how to separate it, because is not showing up my asterisks when they're alone on a line. Don't know what I'll wind up doing when I post this, because the points of view do need to be separated.

Henriette: Because she's sweet and funny and probably the only person on earth who's not entirely stricken with him. Because she's 150 lesbian. Poor Harry.

Usually Immaculate Aristocrat: Thank you! And thanks for pointing out the 'dyke' bit. Hope that's settled. (?) And more slashy goodness to come!

Siren of the Darknessflame: Thanks!


	4. Overactive Hormones

X

XIX

XIXIX "Overactive Hormones" XIXIX

Crabbe and Goyle currently seemed far more attractive than could be considered normal, or healthy, on any scale. For that reason alone, Draco had his entire attention focused on his Head of House in the Common Room that night. The seventh year Slytherins were meeting with Snape about the job fair coming this weekend.

Snape held up a hand, gesturing lazily. "Of course, the Slytherin House has a long tradition of exceeding expectations on all tasks put forth by potential employers. Slytherins are expected not only to succeed in meeting requirements, but are expected to surpass the demonstrated abilities of students from other Houses. And it should go without saying that no one is to be _caught_ cheating."

Draco smirked. After so many years of practice, all manner of succeeding were now down to a fine art. No self-respecting seventh year Slytherin would ever be caught cheating. He glanced over to Crabbe and Goyle disdainfully. Of course, those two stupid, sexy brutes probably _did _need to have Snape remind them not to get caught…

Draco groaned loudly and put his head in his hands.

There was no way that he was attracted to Crabbe and Goyle. He didn't even _like_ them. He had hardly spoken to them since they had outgrown their usefulness as bodyguards. Draco was far too mature nowadays to be getting into the kind of fights that would require physical force to win, so he had dropped the simple-minded love ogres from the ranks of his friendship. They were ignorant, slow-witted, and their mating rituals were as bizarre as they were disgusting. Draco found he could no longer stomach their company.

"Mr. Malfoy," said Snape sternly, "Is there something you wish to say?"

"No sir," said Draco with a forced calm. He sat through the rest of the meeting, pretending to pay close attention, but instead he focused worriedly on the alarming trend of sexual excitation he was experiencing today with people he typically found to be revolting.

It was true that the arousal he was currently feeling towards Crabbe and Goyle was far more subdued than the all-out horniness he had felt toward Potter earlier… or, dare he admit it? McGonagall!!!

__

Ugh.

But time had passed, and his horniness had subsided. He was definitely doing better after having spent some quality time with his wizard porn. It must have just been one of those days. Teenagers were known to have days like that, days where they just wanted to shag like rabbits with anyone and everyone they could get their hands on. That was all. He was not a sick, twisted individual just because had had wanted to run his hands all over McGonagall's elderly catlike body…

__

No! Not going there.

What Draco didn't know of course, was that since it was now evening, and since his food had been… altered… during breakfast, the Powder of Love was wearing off.

XIXIX

The next morning, Draco managed not to get a hard-on when he walked in on a grunting Crabbe and Goyle freak-fest in the shower. In fact, he managed to stumble into the nearest toilet stall and vomit. He took that as a good sign that his day-of-horniness was now over. But all the same, he did feel a bit of trepidation at the thought of seeing Potter in the Great Hall at breakfast.

Because Potter always looked so cute at breakfast, with his hair all mussed and his eyes heavy-lidded… Draco didn't know if he could stand another onslaught of hormones caused by _Potter_, of all people. So he decided to skip the Great Hall, and just pop into the kitchens for a bite to eat before class.

Unfortunately, Potter seemed to have had the same idea, because as Draco climbed out the portrait hole with an egg sandwich and a cup of pumpkin juice, he ran straight into him. Draco lost his balance and fell forward onto the Gryffindor, spilling his food and drink on the floor.

"Oh, sorry!" groaned Potter as he helped Draco up. But then he caught sight of Draco's face and seemed to freeze in horror, holding onto one of his arms as he lifted him.

Draco froze as well, half-way to standing. He stared at Potter uncertainly, waiting for the inevitable lust to overtake him. But it didn't come. Potter was even touching him, and it did nothing for Draco whatsoever. Potter even looked really damn good this morning, but to Draco, he was only the biggest attention-seeking, faux-hero, Golden Boy Prat he always was. And Draco did not want to shag him!

He almost laughed, but then he realized that Potter was still touching him.

"Hey, watch it, scar-head," he snapped, yanking his arm away.

Potter seemed to wake from his reverie and he stared at Draco uncertainly. He looked him up and down and Draco could have sworn Potter had a relieved sort of smile on his face. But the next moment, the smile was gone as he put together the scowl that he reserved for Draco, and Draco alone.

Well, okay, for Draco and Snape.

Then very slowly, as though testing out his voice, Potter said, "Um… sod off… ferret."

Malfoy nodded. That's right. Insults. This was how it was supposed to work.

"Good one, Potty. Stay up all night thinking it up?"

The Gryffindor smirked slowly. "No, but I'm sure that Potty-Potter play on words must have taken you _ages_ to get down. Did you practice it endlessly in front of your vanity mirror?"

Draco slapped his forehead in shock, "Ye Gods, Potter! You actually know what a mirror is? From the look of you, I'd have guessed you simply relied on the Weasel to tell you how to dress—that… _poor_… bastard."

Potter narrowed his eyes. "Speaking of bastards, Malfoy, you'll never guess who I ran into a second ago." Harry held up his finger like he was thinking, and then slowly lowered it until he was pointing at Draco with a look of surprised recognition.

"You ought to be more careful," said Draco warningly. "One of these days you're going to catch me in a bad mood."

"I'm shaking," Harry deadpanned. "Really."

The two stared at each other for a few seconds, sizing each other up. Draco was waiting, just to make sure Potter didn't get him all hot and bothered… but no, he was fine. He and Potter continued to stare at each other in silence, until they reached some sort of unspoken agreement. Everything was normal between them. They smiled and nodded at each other, glad they had an understanding.

Then Draco turned abruptly and walked off, leaving his breakfast on the floor in the hallway.

XIXIX

Harry stared after Malfoy as he walked down the hall. 'Well, that was almost bizarre,' he thought. He had come down here to avoid seeing Malfoy (and as disgusting as it was to think about—Snape!) at breakfast, fearing that he would wind up as aroused as he had been the day before when he saw them.

But then when he saw Malfoy, he hadn't felt anything at all like he had the previous day, and Malfoy was even looking especially good this morning. They started trading insults like nothing had happened. But then there had been that moment between them, where they just stared at each other. For a brief second, Harry had half-expected the Slytherin to kiss him or something, but nothing happened. He just left. Just like it was supposed to be. Everything was fine.

But something _had_ happened yesterday to get Harry all weird over Malfoy and Snape. And that was certainly not normal. Harry sighed deeply, figuring his frustration over Luna must be coming to some sort of head for him to get so horny over people he didn't even like.

He was just going to have to tell her about his feelings soon; that was all.

All the same, Harry was elated after his brief altercation with Malfoy. He wasn't attracted to the prat after all. He grabbed some fruit for breakfast and practically skipped to his morning classes, which were as dull and un-arousing as ever. Harry was so pleased that that was all over with.

XIXIX

Ginny slipped into the seat next to him at lunch, and leaned very close, very often, to whisper to Harry that she thought it was time that he talk to Luna about his feeling for her. What Harry didn't know was that she was slipping a little extra powder into his food right now, in order to make up for his missed dose this morning.

The twins had told her that one pinch, once a day, would be plenty, but Ginny was worried that as shy as Harry was, and as gay as Luna was, they may need just a little more than was typically called for.

And across the hall, Blaise was very put out that a) more than 24 hours had passed since he first slipped Draco the love potion, and still he had not shagged his gorgeous blond friend, and b) Draco had had the nerve to skip breakfast without telling him first. So, while Draco gobbled down his lunch in a slightly ravenous manner thanks to no breakfast, Blaise slipped him perhaps a little more of the Powder of Love than was strictly necessary, according to the twins.

XIXIX

Harry and Ron waited until the last possible moment to head to class in the North Tower. They both hated Divination, but had somehow made it to NEWT level classes, so they couldn't justify dropping it. Harry wished that Firenze had stayed on as professor, but shortly after Dumbledore returned, Firenze had gone back into the Forbidden Forest, and Trelawney had gone back to predicting Harry's death twice a week, like clockwork.

Sometimes, Harry really thought he hated the woman.

They were working on myomancy right now, which is divination from the movements of mice. Trelawney had set up three huge metal bins of mice and the class had divided themselves into groups. Harry, Ron, Lavender, and Parvati leaned over the side of one of the bins and watched as the mice scurried about.

"Now class," sang Trelawney in her misty voice, "Watch for any pattern of movement, and consult your text as to its meaning."

Harry glanced up and rolled his eyes as he saw the annoying professor slide seductively toward him, her big, bug-eyed glasses blinking with feverish eroticism, peering into his soul and giving him an aching hard-on.

Oh shit.

Harry's face turned beet-red. He pressed himself against the large metal bin, praying that no one notice how uncomfortable he was, especially not in a class of seventh years who fancied themselves Seers. Harry gaped frantically at the mice… _focus on the mice!_

But then Trelawney was standing behind him, next to him, touching him. She laid her hand gently on his shoulder as she peered over the edge of the bin. She looked up at Harry with her huge sad eyes, and patted his shoulder sympathetically. It was the single most arousing touch Harry had ever experienced. He wanted to fling those glasses aside and see what sexual wisdom was hiding in those eyes. He wanted to peel off the layers and layers of sweaters and draping fabrics that hung off Trelawney's frame, covering whatever female form was underneath.

__

Focus on the mice… focus on the mice…

"Harry," she whispered, her breath ghosting against his face. "I'm afraid you're going to have a terrible weekend at the job fair."

Her fingers were still on his shoulder. Her face was so near. He could just turn and their lips would be touching. He pressed himself harder up against the bin, willing his arousal to subside. This was not normal. This was not good.

__

Focus on the mice… focus on the mice…

Beside him, Ron laughed and pointed. "Is Harry going to join some sort of shagging competition during the job fair?" he asked. Lavender and Parvati shot him dirty looks. Harry and Trelawney both followed Ron's finger down to the mice below, four of whom were having a miniature orgy.

'This is Hell,' thought Harry.

Trelawney huffed and kicked the side of the bin. The metal echoed with a bang, sending the mice running anew. Harry lowered his head.

"I think I'm going to be sick," he said. "May I be excused?"

XIXIX

Draco had had a good morning, free from all horniness, and had no reason to be suspicious that any of that would change, especially since he was heading to a Slytherin-Hufflepuff class, Double Care of Magical Creatures. It wasn't so much that he _hated_ the Hufflepuffs, it was just that they were such a worthless lot.

Slytherin was obviously Draco's favored House, because they were so cunning and devious and ambitions and crafty. They made life interesting, and yet somehow always managed to get what they wanted. After that, Draco preferred the Ravenclaws. They were intelligent, quick-witted, serious and studious. They enjoyed a job well done, and Draco could respect that. And then, even the Gryffindors, as obnoxious as they tended to be, had _bravery_ to their very short list of merits. They didn't fear a challenge, so even though Draco tended not to get along with them, he did have some bit of respect for them.

But Hufflepuffs? They had no redeeming qualities. They were happy-go-lucky oafs, below Draco's contempt. There wasn't a word to describe how he felt toward them. They weren't even worth him feeling anything. Draco just ignored them for the most part.

So as the class gathered outside of Hagrid's sub-standard dwelling, Draco was surprised to notice how attractive the Hufflepuffs actually are. He didn't exactly feel _aroused_ as he looked around at the students—he just felt sort of _attracted_.

He turned to Blaise and almost mentioned his bizarre feeling, but then he saw that look again on Blaise's face, like he was ready to put the moves on Draco. Draco narrowed his eyes and snapped, "What the hell's the matter with you?"

Blaise stepped back and the seductive expression was gone. It was just Blaise. It occurred to Draco then that he might really just be imagining it. He could even have imagined it several times in the past two days, especially considering the past two days that Draco had had.

Blaise looked genuinely hurt, and Draco felt a little guilty.

"I—I shouldn't have snapped," he said.

Blaise frowned and looked away, but he stepped toward Draco again, which Draco took as a sign that he was forgiven. He followed Blaise's gaze to the oversized shanty that Hagrid called a home, just in time to see the enormous man step out swinging a huge staff that looked more like a log.

"I got summat real special fer yeh terday," he said in his husky voice, and Draco smiled before he realized it. "Go git some walkin' sticks from that pile over yonder," he said, pointing with his log. "We're goin' up hikin' inter the mountains."

Draco followed the rest of the class to the pile of broken up branches lying near Hagrid's run-down hut and chose his staff carefully. He felt the weight of it in his hands, and gripped it hard. His fingers didn't close all the way around the staff, and he looked up to Hagrid, wondering if his fingers would close all the way around the half-giant's…

__

Whoa gods!

Draco yelped at the thought, dropping his walking staff and jumping away from it as though it had bitten him. Blaise stepped forward and put his hand on Draco's shoulder, and Draco found himself glad for his friend's unusual touchy-feely-ness. It gave him a distraction from that utterly, totally, completely, and in all other ways _icky_ thought that had just raced through his mind.

"Summat the matter, Malfoy?" called out Hagrid from across the way.

"Fine!" croaked Draco without looking up. He couldn't look up. He didn't ever want to have that mental image again.

"Draco, are you okay?" asked Blaise in a low tone. He slid his hand down from Draco's shoulder until he was holding his hand. Draco squeezed it, focusing on his friend's fingers in his. That was a safe thought. Blaise's fingers were something he could think about.

"Yeah, I'm fine," whispered Draco. "Let's just uh…" he cleared his throat. "Let's stay to the back of the group today, okay? I don't want to look at that monster if I can help it."

Blaise grinned his brilliant, cock-sure grin that he had and nodded understandingly.

XIXIX

Draco was leaning across the table miserably in the Great Hall at dinner that night. He had had a terrible afternoon. He couldn't trust himself anywhere. He had been attracted to Hufflepuffs, fantasizing about Hagrid's size, had sincerely thought about shagging McGonagall when he passed her in the hallway, and to top it all off, Blaise continued to be grabby despite Draco's half-hearted protests.

Draco was pretty sure he wasn't imagining it now. Blaise was definitely macking on him, even though they were just friends. And it would really, really be pissing Draco off right now if it weren't for the fact that the most unlikely people were causing him some mad-crazy arousal. Potter was even seeming less bad by comparison to some of the people he had considered shagging today. At least _he_ was good-looking.

Blaise's hand was on Draco's back but Draco couldn't be bothered to shrug it off. Life was hell. He couldn't wait until he was no longer a teenager, no longer a slave to raging hormones. Maybe he should shag somebody. It had been awhile. Maybe that was why he was so horny lately. Maybe he was just _due_.

Blaise's fingers trailed down his spine and Draco shuddered. Blaise seemed willing… but no. They were friends. Friends don't shag. It makes things complicated. But who?

The problem was that so few people lived up to Draco's standards. That was why he hadn't dated in awhile. There really just weren't too many people that deserved him. Everyone had their flaws, their ineptitudes, their annoying habits, their issues. Even Abram Sevenson, a really devious, intelligent Ravenclaw, and absolute the _hottest_ guy at Hogwarts, had his problem.

He was straight.

Like—_completely_ straight. He was as straight as Luna Lovegood was gay. And sexual extremes like that just can't be healthy.

Draco looked up and glanced quickly around the Great Hall. There had to be someone he could sleep with… well, someone he _would _sleep with. But Draco's eyes landed on Potter and his groin throbbed passionately. Draco put his head back on the table, where it should have been all along.

'This is Hell,' he thought, but a moment later, he discovered that things could still get worse.

A quiet settled over the Great Hall and Draco realized with a rush of annoyance that that fool of a wizard, Dumbledore, was gabbing on about what an exciting weekend the seventh years had in store with the job fair. Dumbledore's speeches were always the most inane drivel. Draco raised his head with his rising condescension.

But as soon as he saw that doddering old idiot, Draco's jaw dropped in horror. Everything he knew to be holy and sacred _shattered_ as one persistent image forced its way into Draco's head—himself on his knees under the staff table.

And—quite frankly—between Dumbledore and Hagrid, Draco really didn't know which was worse. But the fact that BOTH had crossed his mind today, well, more than crossed his mind today, was more than he could take.

"Kill me," he groaned.

Blaise leaned down. "What was that, Draco?" he asked kindly. But Draco had had enough. He didn't care if the headmaster was speaking. He didn't care if he made a scene in the Great Hall. All he cared about was getting the hell out of that room right away. He pushed his way up from the table and stormed out.

He didn't slow down until he was in the dungeons, barricaded into his dorm room. He carefully and painstakingly raised wards that were spelled not to let anyone else in until he was firmly asleep, and which then hexed everyone into silence as they entered. He put extra guards around his four-poster so that no one could touch it except for him. He was going to be alone until he was asleep, and even then he was not going to be bothered.

Unfortunately, both for Draco and his roommates, he did not drift to sleep until well past four AM.

XIXIX

Close to the end of dinner, Dumbledore got up to speak. Snape was sitting just to his right and Harry fought to focus on Dumbledore's spirited talk about the job fair. Snape was scowling sexily at the headmaster's every word, which was highly distracting to Harry for some disgustingly inappropriate reason. But then Draco Malfoy jumped up suddenly and stomped out of the Great Hall. Harry checked out his arse on the way out, and made up his mind that he was absolutely, positively, and without fail this time, going to confess his feelings to Luna, _tonight_.

He just couldn't deal with this horniness any longer.

So as soon as everyone else got up to leave, Harry pushed his way through to the Ravenclaw table and asked Luna to meet him out by the lake tonight. She agreed with a vague smile, and Harry's heart decided to find out what it was like in the vicinity of Harry's throat.

One hour, three changes of clothing, and fifteen failed attempts to tame his hair later, Harry skipped down to the lake where he plopped down into the grass to wait for Luna. She emerged from the castle a few minutes later and wandered down toward the lake, looking about herself distractedly so that Harry felt compelled to warn her before she walked straight into the water.

"Oh, right… thanks," she said dreamily.

"Er, um, don't mention it," blushed Harry, who was actually pleased for once that he saved the day. He even found that he wouldn't mind so much if Luna fell into his arms, proclaiming her undying love to him now that he had saved her from drowning… Harry shook his head. That wasn't like the Luna he had fallen in love with. Luna would never do something so foolish.

"I think I'm going to interview the Giant Squid for my first article for the Quibbler," she said dazedly. "I haven't asked him yet, but I think he'll agree."

"You haven't asked your dad?" clarified Harry uncertainly.

"The Squid," replied Luna simply. "But he always seemed nice."

"Er… sure. Why wouldn't he… um… grant you… an interview…" Harry trailed off, scratching his head. Could Luna really communicate with the Giant Squid?

"You think he will?" she asked, her huge eyes hopeful.

"Of course," grinned Harry. "Anything for you."

"I'll ask him right now," she proclaimed, and turned back to the lake.

"Luna, wait!" started Harry, but it was too late. Luna had already dived into the lake and was swimming out into the darkness. Pretty soon, Harry could see her no longer. He kicked at the dirt in anger and frustration. This was never going to work. Every time he got anywhere near telling Luna how he felt, some bizarre thing would happen before he was able to get the words out.

He flung himself on the ground and waited. It was nearly three hours before Luna emerged again from the lake, shivering and happy.

"I got the interview!" she squealed.

Harry conjured a blanket and wrapped it around her small, trembling form. "You're going to catch your death of cold. Come on, let's get you in."

Luna looked up at him with wonder. "Why would I want to catch Death?" she asked uncertainly.

"Erm…" began Harry, "It's just an expression."

Luna rolled her huge, happy eyes. "Weird expression… anyway…" She smiled in satisfaction. "I've got to get back to my dorm room and transfer these notes." She held up her arms. The wet sleeves of her robes were rolled up nearly to her shoulders and all up and down the pale skin of her arms there were words written in waterproof ink.

"Yeah, okay," said Harry quietly. "I'll see you then." He looked away.

"Okay! Bye, Harry!"

Luna took off running, wrapped up in the blanket Harry had conjured—a cozy fleece number swirling with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw colors. Harry had been practicing that one for a theoretical time in the future when he and Luna would have a picnic, and then bask in the warm afternoon sun together, happy and in love, lying on the perfect blanket for both of them.

"Bugger it all to hell," grumbled Harry as he made his way in.

But it he didn't make it very far. Still on the first flight of stairs that would lead him to Gryffindor Tower, Harry heard a sound that made his heart stop, even after all these years—the pathetic yet terrifying mewling of Mrs. Norris. Harry had once again been caught out after curfew.

It didn't even take three seconds for Filch to appear, "What is it, love?" he asked the cat indulgently. "What have you found?"

Harry stood there, his eyes shut and his face screwed up in anticipation of punishment. Sure, he had saved the wizarding world, but what the hell did _that_ matter if he was still caught after curfew? What the hell did _that_ matter if he still couldn't bring himself to tell Luna how he felt? What the hell did _that_ matter if he wanted to throw that prick Malfoy down and shag him?

"Ah… what have we here?" asked Filch nastily.

Harry opened his eyes to look at the loathsome man disdainfully. He opened his mouth to say, "Let's just get this over with… how many detentions?" But instead, the words caught in his throat as he beheld the sex god before him, with his bleach-stained sex god clothes, and his long sex god broom, and his sinister sex god eyes, and his ratty sex god cat.

Instead, the wide-eyed and horrified Harry said, "Oh, fuck me."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY?" roared Filch.

Harry grabbed his head in both hands and continued to swear. This was just about the worst thing that could possibly happen.

__

No, no—wait! It could be even worse if Snape rounded the corner right now as he was wont to do anytime Harry found himself in trouble. That would _definitely_ make things far, far worse than this.

Harry felt the color drain from his face, because as soon as he thought that, he heard footsteps coming up down the hall. He slumped against the wall, preparing himself for the hell that was about to ensue. If Snape and Filch were to _double up_ on him right now in the state he was in… (Harry's mind was met with a very graphic image at that thought) _To yell at me! To yell at me!_ his thoughts scrambled.

Harry promised himself as the footsteps neared that if he got out of this alive, he would kill himself.

"Good evening, Mr. Filch, what's going on?"

Harry startled at the cheerful voice. It wasn't Snape after all. It was Colin Creevey.

"Oh, all right, Harry?" he said nervously, taking in the sight of Harry Potter slumped against the wall with his eyes shut tight. Harry groaned and opened his eyes, to be immediately blinded by a bright flash of light. 'Damn you, Colin,' he thought to himself as blue flashes covered his entire field of vision. He staggered forward a step or two, half intent on strangling that pesky sixth-year that was always following him around, always taking pictures of him…

"I've been looking all over for you," he said cheerfully. "Um, McGonagall decided at the last minute to meet in the Common Room after all, so you wouldn't have to be out after curfew. She asked one of the prefects to go find you, so I volunteered."

…always saving his butt from tons of detentions.

Colin grabbed his arm helpfully and tugged him toward Gryffindor Tower. "Come on, Harry, we'd better hurry." He glanced over his shoulder at Filch with a very meaningful look and continued, "You know how pissed she'll be at anyone who keeps her waiting."

Filch snapped his mouth shut tight, unwilling to keep Harry there if it meant dealing with McGonagall later. He turned on his heel and stormed off down the hall, Mrs. Norris hurrying after him.

Colin walked along, still holding Harry's arm. Harry stumbled behind him up two flights of stairs before pulling his arm free. They were on a landing with a large window seat that looked out over the Quidditch pitch. Harry needed to pull his thoughts together, and more importantly, clear his eyes from the flashing lights—the visual memory of Colin's flashbulb.

Harry leaned back onto the window seat and rubbed his eyes tiredly. Colin looked around, and then awkwardly (although he was trying to appear casual) sat down next to Harry.

Quite close to Harry, actually.

They sat in silence for a few moments, before Colin tentatively spoke. "There's not actually a meeting with McGonagall, you know," he said, as though maybe Harry hadn't gotten that point.

Harry shook his head, still rubbing his eyes. "I know, Colin. Thanks for making that up, though." It wouldn't be very polite for him to brush him off like he normally did, not after Colin had saved him from Hogwart's janitor/sex god.

Harry groaned again and leaned forward. What the hell was the matter with him?

Colin touched his shoulder. "Are you okay, Harry?"

"Yeah, I'm fine."

Harry turned to him to smile his reassuring smile with which he could placate anyone but the closest of his friends, and he found himself nearly nose to nose with Colin. Colin's eyes sparkled hopefully. Harry felt his stomach turn over.

It wasn't that Colin was an unattractive guy. It was just that in Harry's mind, he hadn't changed much since when Harry had first met him in his second year. Harry looked at him and saw the same annoying eleven-year-old who had chased after him for an autograph.

And Colin had just never stopped chasing after Harry for his autograph.

And that was _really_ bloody annoying.

But now Harry found himself drawn to that puppy-dog loyalty and that boyish charm. And before he could even stop and think about what he was doing, he was snogging Colin Creevey. Harry was snogging Colin Creevey. He was pressing his lips into the smaller boy's and he was pulling him closer.

But some little bit of sanity remained in his head and the annoyance he felt for Colin overcame his sudden attraction to him. Harry pushed him away and stood up hurriedly. He paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair, desperate to get a grip on himself.

Colin sat on the window seat, wide eyed, as though all his dreams had come true. He looked up to Harry and stammered, "Uh, that is… ahem… Harrywillyoubemyboyfriend?!"

Harry turned back to him, appalled, and thought fast. "I can't. I'm seeing someone." Colin looked crestfallen. Harry needed an excuse to have just kissed him. "I, er, we took an aphrodisiac tonight and it hasn't worn off all the way. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to do that. I just meant to say thank you."

Colin's shoulders slumped and he nodded, his chin nearly resting on his chest. "Oh sorry. I didn't mean to take advantage of you…" he murmured.

"What?! Colin, no, it was my fault!" said Harry quickly, standing on the opposite side of the landing. He wanted to pull Colin into his arms and make him forget all his worries. He wanted more snogging.

"Wait a minute," said Colin slowly, looking up. "Who are you seeing?"

"What?"

"Who are you seeing? Everyone knows you have a thing for Luna, but I _know_," he stressed, much to Harry's annoyance, "That you're not seeing _her_."

'Oh shit,' thought Harry.

"Um, I can't tell you," he said, feeling like that was just about one of the lamest things he had ever said. One would think he was talking to Luna, what with his sudden inability to say anything worthwhile.

"Why not?" asked Colin, his arms crossed. "I mean, after what just happened, I figure I have a right to know."

"Uh…" Harry fell back against the wall hopelessly. "I can't, Colin. We're keeping it a secret."

"Guy or girl?"

"What?"

"Is it a guy or a girl?" he demanded.

Malfoy's sexy sneer flashed in Harry's mind, and he said automatically, "Guy."

Colin smiled with relief. "Well, let me know if anything happens between you two, eh, Harry?" he said suggestively.

Harry's eyes widened and he took off up the stairs at a run.

Behind him on the landing, Colin vowed to find out who this mystery lover was, and see if he couldn't do anything to break them up. Normally he wouldn't involve himself in such plots, but he'd had a thing for Harry for years. And perhaps even more importantly, he now knew what an incredible kisser Harry was. And you just don't let those sorts of things go.

XIXIX

XIX

X

A/N: Okay, then. I think we have officially reached a bizarre love pentagon. And I suspect it will just keep growing. And poor Draco… he really does hate an ungodly amount of people, doesn't he?

Huh? What was that? Why aren't they expecting magic at play, since, you know, they're at a school for witchcraft and wizardry? Well, I guess you'll just have to wait and find out, huh?

Anyway, I do NOT promise that I will finish this fic. But the recent addition of the upcoming job fair, as well as Colin's vow, has bought this story another chapter or two at least. Other ideas to keep this fic going are welcome. Write me or throw them into your reviews.

Oh, and I DO promise that very soon we will get some action that does not involve Colin or the love ogres in any way.


	5. One Terrible Morning

A/N: Oh, I think this is my favorite chapter in this story yet!

X

XIX

XIXIX "One Terrible Morning" XIXIX

Draco was in no mood for Blaise's irritating face that morning. He had hardly slept the night before and had to wade through the almost overwhelming fear that he would wind up trying to hump McGonagall's leg, in order to prepare himself for the weekend's job fair. The last thing he wanted was his best friend to hang around him, urging him on, touching him inappropriately, and in all other ways being the biggest sodding insult to injury in Draco's already terrible morning.

He was ready to snap, and in fact was getting ready to hex his complete arsehole of a friend into oblivion for continuing to pressure Draco into eating and drinking the breakfast that he had _also_ insisted on serving Draco, when the doors to the Great Hall slammed open, and Draco was reminded that there were people on Earth, and even at this school, that he currently hated more than his best friend.

XIXIX

Harry didn't want to be rude. Really, he didn't. But he was becoming more pissed off by the second with Colin's constant chattering. He had appeared at Harry's dorm room door with flowers the moment Harry was out of bed, and had not left him alone since. He kept going on and on about how he was the wizarding world's best photographer, and probably already had a job lined up at the Quibbler, since the Lovegoods had long since recognized his amazing talent. He was acting like Harry was a _Veela_, for Merlin's sake, and it was really fucking annoying.

Colin was trying to woo him. He was honest-to-goodness trying to impress Harry into bedding him. Mind you, this sort of thing happened all the time with people who didn't know Harry so well, but Colin? Colin had never tried anything of the sort with Harry. He had always been overly friendly and cheerful, but he never actually _hit on_ Harry.

It was weird and unsettling and Harry didn't want any part of it. He wouldn't want any part of it even at the best of times, but at the current moment, he was quite sure that his life was in fact worse than it had been when he had been battling Voldemort. Luna would never want him. He kept wanting to shag the most horrific people. He had hardly slept the previous night. He had a sodding job fair to prepare for. And Colin Creevey was trying to woo him.

'This morning could not be more terrible,' he thought to himself as he slammed his way into the Great Hall. But then he saw Draco Malfoy glaring at him across the room. That specific glare on his face usually meant trouble. And Harry realized that things probably could, in fact, get worse.

XIXIX

Colin wasn't having that hot of a morning either. That kiss last night had been magic. It had been inspiration. It had been divine. There was no way around it—this was love. He had originally believed that "aphrodisiac" story that Harry had given him, but then Colin got to thinking. He had taken aphrodisiacs before. Kisses under their influence were sloppy and needy, and unless Harry was just one hell of a kisser, there was _no way_ that he had simply kissed Colin due to the lingering effects of a potion.

No way.

Which meant that, beyond all hope he ever thought he could even dream of having, Colin Creevey had a chance with Harry Potter.

Except that Harry kept pretending like it hadn't been magic, which was really confusing if you thought about it. He was pretending the same casual annoyance that Colin had always detected. So once they were in the Great Hall, Colin had separated from his love in order to sit in his usual spot and brood. He had a lot to figure out.

Harry had said he was with someone, but that couldn't really be true. The whole school knew he was mad-crazy in love with Luna 'the Lesbian' Lovegood. So either he had just made up this person in order to continue denying the truth of his connection with Colin, or else, this person did really exist. In which case this person was coming between Harry and Colin. In which case Colin had to get this person _out_ of the way.

He stared sulking over at Harry who sat in his usual spot next to Ginny, who, Colin noted with a twinge of jealousy, could act so casual with him. She would just reach over in front of his plate like it was no big deal. They were so comfortable together. They were clearly good friends. But not good friends like Harry was good friends with Ron and Hermione. Ginny was good friends with him in a way that was… more _open_ to, say, a little behind-the-back scheming. Ginny might even know who this person was that Colin needed to get rid of.

XIXIX

"He made out with you?!" hissed Ginny.

She and Colin were locked in a broom closet three halls away from the Great Hall. Colin had told her it was important, but Ginny never would have imagined this.

"Yeah," said Colin breathlessly. "And it was so romantic too. I had just rescued him from dire straights with Filch, and then we were sitting at a window with the night at our backs… and then, he kissed me."

"_He_ kissed _you_?!"

Colin grinned up at her and Ginny had to look away while she did some fast thinking. It had to be the love potion. It just had to be. Harry would never in a million years kiss Colin Creevey. Ever. Ever, ever, ever. Ever.

Ginny ran her hands through her hair distractedly, looking everywhere around the room except into Colin's eyes. If the love potion had made Harry make out with _this_ little squirt, then there was _no way_ that it was doing to Harry what Fred and George had said it would do to him. Which would be consistent with every other prank that Fred and George had ever played in their lives. Which meant that this might wind up being even funnier than she had originally hoped.

She turned back to Colin. "Tell me everything," she commanded, and he did. Ginny listened very carefully, trying to figure out what was happening to her friend thanks to… whatever it was… that she was currently spiking his food with. It was clearly something sexual, but probably not amorous, despite Colin's describing the incident as the most romantic moment of his life. It really didn't seem that way to Ginny.

But Harry wasn't even that _fond_ of Colin, much less in love with him, so the potion must either make him horny, which would be funny, or make him horny for people he didn't like, which would be even funnier. Fred and George were clever blokes. It had to be the latter.

She stifled an evil grin while she listened to Colin drone on about how he had to win Harry's heart and convince him that it was okay to give love a try. Colin was sweet, but his involvement in this whole plot was simply not funny enough to be worth her time. She had to get rid of him so that she could think bigger.

"I'm sorry, Colin, but I'm afraid Harry wasn't lying to you."

Colin's face fell. "Wh… what do you mean?" he quivered.

"He _has _been seeing someone. I don't know who it is, but I have a feeling it is someone no one would _ever_ expect. And the fact that he's kept it a secret, even from close friends, says to me that he is really attached to this person." She patted him on the shoulder compassionately. "I'm sure it's nothing personal," she added. "Harry would have been lucky to have you. He just found someone else first."

Colin looked like he might start crying, so Ginny checked her watch. "Oh, would you look at the time!" she gasped. "I've really got to go."

And she rushed out to do a few experiments on this powder she had, to figure out what exactly it was made of, and how she might use it to her advantage.

Behind her, Colin sat and thought about this mysterious person who was trying to steal Harry from him. He had to find out who it was. But how would one go about discovering _Harry Potter's_ secrets? Harry was about as guarded as they came.

And then Colin had an idea…

XIXIX

The job fair was held outside on Hogwarts' grounds. There were tents and booths from the Forbidden Forest, to the Lake, to the Quidditch Pitch, to the Castle. Inquiring students would go to areas of interest and see what each job had to offer. They would then show prospective employers what they had to offer in return.

The grounds were alive with competitive magic. Every seventh-year student outside was bent on showing that they were the absolute best in each field of magic. At Madam Malkin's tent, a Ravenclaw witch named Suji clawed her way viciously past a dozen other fabric-art toting students to display a quilt she had spent months carefully stitching together. At the Gringotts' tent, students were hurling accounting charms like Dark Wizards hurled Unforgivables. Harry passed one tent that seemed to be housing a very heated bake-off. Beaubaton was interviewing for a new Divination Professor, and Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil were engaged in a dangerous prophetic duel, screaming out the gruesome means by which various people would die, in a manner that would make Trelawney proud.

But Harry headed past all of this, making a beeline for the Aurors' tent where a dozen or more hopefuls tried to hex each other into oblivion. Harry looked around at the tables that were set out, and took a few pamphlets that interested him, including _Auror Basics—Fewer of Us Die on Duty Than You Would Think_ and _Become an Auror—Everything Else is Lame._ There were also a few pamphlets that mentioned his name specifically (_Aurors: Killing Dark Wizards in the Grand Tradition of Harry Potter_ and _Harry Potter, Read This Pamphlet and Become an Auror. Now!_), which made Harry feel a little awkward, but also allayed his fears that he would have trouble becoming an Auror with his Potions marks as low as they were.

Harry dueled with a few of the other Auror candidates, and then chatted with some of the recruiting Aurors, who kept offering him contracts. He decided to take the offer with him to think about while he checked out the rest of the job fair. There were still a few other careers that he thought he might be interested in, and he didn't want to rush into anything.

"Oh, come now!" said the Auror recruiter happily. He was a middle-aged man with a mohawk who had spent much of his career gathering intelligence in the underground punk wizarding society. 'Anarchists,' he had said, 'The lot of them.' Now he patted Harry on the back in a friendly way and gushed, "Surely _Harry Potter_ isn't going to accept a contract in another field. Why, look at these headlines!" He pulled out a stack of old newspapers. "You're obviously meant to become an Auror!"

He slapped the newspapers into Harry's hands, and Harry stood quivering as he looked at the picture on the front cover. It was Voldemort, glaring menacingly into the camera with his teeth bared like he was a rabid animal. The Dark Lord had granted an interview just a few weeks before his death, where he plainly stated that he meant to kill Harry Potter within the next month. _You-Know-Who To Kill Harry Potter_ read the headline.

Staring at the picture of his most hated nemesis, Harry thought of two things. He thought of Ginny laughing until she had tears in her eyes when she noticed the piece of spinach stuck in the Dark Lord's teeth, and he thought that he had never before seen anyone as sexy as the spinach-toothed madman snarling at him underneath the headline that threatened his life.

All of the blood in Harry's head emptied straight down into his groin, and he now thought how incredibly thankful he was that he had worn two pair of tidy whities today in case something _untoward_ such as this were to happen. But even with that forethought, standing in the middle of the Auror tent, Harry could have said with utmost truth and sincerity that, even after the past few days he had had, he would never in a million years have expected that a picture of Voldemort, and especially a bad picture of Voldemort, would give Harry a hard-on.

Now met with the situation, Harry did what any reasonable human being would have done. He got the hell out of there.

He shoved the newspapers back into the recruiter's hands and said, "I'll be back tomorrow," and then he took off before anyone could say another word.

He sprinted back to the castle, pausing only briefly when he ran headlong into Snape. Harry looked up at him, eyes wide with fear and arousal, and then bolted.

Snape called out behind him, "Detention, Mr. Potter!" in that erotic voice of his, and Harry waved to show he had heard him.

As he entered the castle, thoughts of the glaring Potions Master filled his head. "That man," Harry whispered to himself, incredulous at the thought, "Is too sexy for his shirt."

So sexy it hurt.

XIXIX

Draco hated everyone.

His mood got worse and worse as the minutes ticked by, as did his unbridled desire to shag everyone that he looked at, only making him hate all of these people more. He really needed to get himself under control before he headed out to the job fair.

With that in mind, he gave Blaise the slip, and wandered through the halls until he found what he was looking for. He began to pace back and forth, his feverish mind focused on one thing, and one thing only. But then—

"Mr. Malfoy, I trust everything is all right?"

Draco stopped dead in his tracks and cringed. This was not at all a good thing. Slowly he turned around to face the source of that question: Albus Dumbledore, the worst and kookiest headmaster Hogwarts had ever seen. 'And,' added Draco mentally, 'The absolute hottest _old guy_ on the face of this Earth.'

"Fine, headmaster," he ground out, his voice noticeably hoarse.

"Might I inquire as to why you are not at the job fair?" Dumbledore stepped forward and placed a concerned hand on Draco's shoulder.

Draco just about came from the contact. He opened his mouth to answer, but a muffled groan escaped instead. He shook his head.

"Draco," the headmaster peered over his half-moon spectacles, "Is there something I can help you with?"

Draco was too far gone at that point. He really couldn't help himself. He smirked at the mental image that that question produced. If Dumbledore had any idea what he was thinking…

'Hmm,' thought Draco as his devious side took over without consulting the rest of him, since his logic was currently overcome with a highly inappropriate arousal. 'This might be fun.'

With his very best bedroom eyes in place, Draco made eye contact with the headmaster and whispered throatily, "I don't know, headmaster. Is there something you would _like_ to help me with?"

Dumbledore met his gaze with compassionate eyes, but they quickly widened in shock. He went stiff all over, his hand frozen one inch above Draco's shoulder where he had been patting it. Draco took a small step forward and gave Dumbledore his most wicked grin, allowing all of his inexplicable sexual tension to focus on the man in front of him.

And you should have seen the look on Dumbledore's face!

His mouth gaped open and he began to babble, finally stuttering out, "Carry on, then," before hurrying away down the hall. It was quite possibly the funniest thing Draco had ever seen, but as he turned back to his task of pacing, Draco was caught between feeling triumphant over his accomplishment of making Dumbledore babble, and feeling disgusted with what he had done in order to achieve it.

'I really did just proposition Dumbledore, didn't I?' he thought, shocked that even _he_ would go to such means to achieve his ends. But then he shrugged. 'Oh well.' He looked up at the door that appeared next to him. 'I have other things to take care of right now.'

He opened the door and slid inside, happy to see that the Room of Requirement had furnished the inside of the door with two dozen locks that immediately fastened themselves, thus giving Draco the security he required for the fun he was about to have. He turned around and sighed in defeat. While pacing, he had focused solely on somewhere where, and someone with whom, he could safely have all sorts of wild sex. And who did he find sprawled across the luxury bed (that was remarkably similar to the bed featured in that high-class orgy porn that he had), but Harry Potter.

Draco grumbled to himself, realizing that the Room of Requirement must have tapped into his recent abnormal fantasies. He was highly disappointed with this turn of events, until he considered other alternatives that the Room of Requirement might have furnished for him. 'At least he's cute,' thought Draco. He shrugged and made his way to the bed in great haste, shedding his robes, and whipping his shirt over his head.

Potter sat up and regarded him with intense eyes. "So, Malfoy," he began, but Draco cut him off, climbing into bed and putting his hand over Potter's mouth.

"Don't talk," he ordered. He waited until Potter nodded before he removed his hand, and then very greedily caught his mouth up in a heated kiss. He pushed Potter backward, pinning him down on the bed, enjoying the dominant role he was taking over this, his most hated schoolmate.

He pulled back to pull Potter's shirt over his head, revealing that chest he had seen one hot day last year when spying on the Gryffindors' Quidditch practice. He hated Potter for having such a nice body, for being so bloody hot while at the same time being such a bloody prick. Touching this body didn't relieve any of that hate—it only made Draco hate him more, knowing they would never _actually_ be like this together. And the more he burned with hatred, the more he seethed with arousal.

'I'm not making love to this arsehole,' he thought while kicking his shoes off and undoing his belt. He shoved down his pants and looked over to see Potter doing the same. 'Nice,' he thought, checking out the body he was about to enjoy, rage and sexuality coursing through his veins.

They were both naked now, and clawing at each other hungrily. Draco moaned at the skin on skin contact. He thrust into him, their erections rubbing together, biting and kissing and sucking, leaving painful-looking welts on Potter's neck.

'Damn, does it have to be you?' he thought. 'Is this really _required_?'

"Turn over," he commanded, gripping Potter roughly and flipping him onto his stomach himself. "Where—?" he looked up and saw a jar of lubrication potion resting on a shelf above the headboard. He grabbed at it and helped himself to a generous portion, prepping himself and Potter, pulling the Gryffindor up on all fours.

'Oh Merlin, he's so tight,' he thought, groaning. 'Of course, our dear _virginal_ Potter would be.' Draco glared at his conquest with disdain. His heart was hammering in his chest with the expectation of what he was about to do.

He leaned his chest over Potter's back, his erection pushing at the entrance. "Just to be clear," he whispered into Potter's ear, "I'm not making love to you. This is called fucking." He pushed himself in with one hard thrust and yawped at the sensation. "Oh gods," he cried, slamming into him again. "I'm gonna fuck you until you're screaming for mercy."

And he did.

XIXIX

Meanwhile, up in Gryffindor Tower, Harry was not having nearly as much fun. He had run into Colin Creevey on the way up to his dorm, and had had a little difficulty convincing him that he would, indeed, hex him if he followed Harry to his dorm, since Harry had something very important to attend to. Then, once he had made it to his dorm and had begun to attend to this 'something very important,' he couldn't stop thinking about Malfoy.

__

Malfoy of all people! Okay, granted, he was a much more attractive fantasy than certain others that Harry had been lusting after lately… but this was _Malfoy!_ Harry couldn't possibly think of _Malfoy_ while 'attending to something very impor'… while jacking off. It just wasn't right. It was wrong on so many levels, that Harry could barely list them all before he was cross-eyed and shivering, twice, behind the curtains of his four-poster.

He cleaned up his spent seed with a quick charm, and lay on his bed, trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with him, heavy with the knowledge that he had just masturbated while thinking of quite possibly the biggest prick he had ever met. Cute, sure, but that didn't make it okay.

Or did it?

After all, masturbation fantasies were all about sex. They didn't have _anything_ to do with love, or even like. It was just sex. And not even real sex. It was imagined sex. And Harry could have imagined sex with whomever he damn well pleased.

Right?

His mind made up about that, he decided to see if he had taken care of himself enough so that he could rejoin the job fair. There was only one way to find out, so Harry pulled himself together, straightened his clothes, quickly gave up on straightening his hair, and strode purposefully to his dorm room door. For one brief instant, as he took down all the locking charms he had placed on it for security purposes, he feared that he might find Colin waiting on the other side, but as the door swung open, he realized that his fears had been completely unfounded. Because Colin was not waiting outside his door.

Instead, a large blue egg was waiting outside his door.

Now, Harry had long since given up on being surprised at new things the wizarding world had to offer, because every day seemed to offer something new. So he was actually very calm with his curiosity as he stared at the three-foot-tall, two-foot-wide egg that sat quite straight with no visible means of balance, blocking his entrance to the stairwell. He leaned down to read the small card stuck to the top.

"Congratulations Harry Potter," he read. "It's a boy."

Harry stood bolt upright and stepped away from the egg in alarm. He had never heard anyone mention the possibility that witches and wizards were _hatched_ instead of _born_, but that wasn't necessarily to say that Harry hadn't somehow become a father through a bizarre set of magical coincidences or something. And he was most definitely _not_ ready to be a father.

But as the seconds ticked by and Harry regarded the egg, his panic and alarm began to subside. After all, there were plenty of muggle-born witches and wizards, and muggles would _definitely_ notice that something was up if every now and again they laid an egg instead of giving birth to a baby. No, no, that would be ridiculous.

This was probably a pet. Someone had given him a pet, and it was going to hatch out of a very large egg, and then Harry would have some adorable and cuddly little critter to play with. That was it. A pet.

Harry walked over to the egg and carefully picked it up, bringing it into his dorm room. He closed the door behind him and sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the egg and wondering what was inside. He had only just considered the possibility that Hagrid had sent him some sort of monster pup when the egg began to twitch and crack.

XIXIX

Ginny was pretty sure that she was safe with her involvement in this plot.

Snape was busy with the job fair this weekend, so Ginny had taken it upon herself to break into the Potions Lab and start performing some exploratory tests on this powder her brothers had given her. She had to admit she was quite impressed with what the twins had created.

If she was right, it caused the victim to fall head over heals in lust with the people they hate the most. It would cause a burgeoning of attraction to people they disliked. But, and by far best of all, there was a cloaking spell on the powder itself so that the victim would never consider on their own that the powder, or anything magical for that matter, was the cause of their feelings!

Oh, it was precious! Ginny could probably show Harry that she was putting something in his food, and so long as she gave a plausible reason for it that had nothing to do with his lust for those he hated, he would never suspect a thing!!! Her brothers were geniuses.

The problem was that she didn't want to let on to the twins that she had figured out the _real_ effect of the powder, which meant that she couldn't discuss it with them at all. She knew it was _possible_ that they had found a way to spike Draco Malfoy's food supply too (although short of creating bogus black-mail material for one of his friends, she had no clue how they would, since the Slytherins were a particularly difficult group to infiltrate). However, she didn't know _for sure_ that they had, and she couldn't ask… so… she would just have to do it on her own.

Because Harry making out with Colin... that was an interesting result of a prank. But Harry making out with _Draco Malfoy_? Now that was prize money!

And the beautiful, hilarious irony of it all was that she was going to need Harry's help, in order to prank Harry. Oh, how she loved being mischievous!

She did a quick once-over on the Potions Lab to make sure that no evidence of her presence was left behind, and took off at a run for Gryffindor Tower.

XIXIX

The hatching process took less than five minutes. Harry watch in awe as the miracle of life took place, quietly praying that it was something cute and cuddly from someone who was not Hagrid. Hagrid meant well, but um, well… his idea of cute and cuddly tended to maim.

A hole opened up at the top of the twitching egg, and Harry could see a mop of black fur sticking out the top. He scooted forward and carefully touched the fur, which actually seemed more like hair when he got a better look at it. The egg twitched again, and another small piece caved in. Harry leaned in to peer into the hole, but then his dorm room door slammed open and he jumped away in a fright.

"Harry, I need your…" Ginny bounded into the room but then froze in her tracks, staring down at Harry and the egg. "Oh gods, Harry!" she said in a warning tone. "Don't touch it!"

"What?"

"Don't touch the egg. At all. It'll imprint itself onto you if any of your skin touches the shell." She looked down into Harry's now widening eyes and groaned, "Oh, Harry, you touched it already, didn't you?!"

The egg twitched and cracked again, but Harry scooted away now, his panic rising once again. "Ginny," he said seriously, "Tell me right now if this is a really terrible thing." He stood up to look her in the eye.

Ginny looked at him sadly and said, "Not terrible, Harry. Just really bloody annoying."

They both turned back to see the egg completely come apart as small arms and legs stretched themselves, pushing for freedom. Harry's mouth fell open and he gaped at the little naked human on his floor.

"Oh holy hell," he gasped. "Wizards really do hatch, then, don't they?" He turned to Ginny and asked in a voice that cracked, "Ginny, am I a father?"

Ginny turned from the hatchling to look at Harry's alarmed face, and immediately fell into a fit of laughing that kept her unable to answer for several moments. "Ha—Harry—oh my… you…" She slapped him on the shoulder, doubling over to guffaw loudly.

Harry turned away from his very obnoxious friend and stared wide-eyed at the naked child that had hatched from the blue egg. It was a boy, all right. It looked confused and awkward, and about five years old. 'But even if we do hatch' thought Harry, 'wouldn't we start out as babies?'

Finally, Ginny righted herself enough to answer, "Harry, don't be daft. Wizards don't hatch from eggs!" She was really trying very hard not to laugh, but Harry was not in the mood to give her credit for such things at the moment. "Not real wizards at any rate. This, Harry," she said, indicating the child, "Is—"

The child looked up at Harry suddenly and yelled at the top of his lung, "HARRY!" He ran forward and wrapped his tiny arms around Harry's legs and squealed happily, "I'm your new brother!"

"Your new brother," finished Ginny, looking down with exasperation. "And you will very quickly grow to hate this cretin. Man, did I teach you nothing?! Why the hell did you touch that egg? You obviously didn't know what it was!"

Harry shrugged and looked down helplessly. The naked five-year-old looked up at him with a huge grin. He looked unsettlingly like Harry with his small bone structure and untidy mess of hair. In fact—Harry knelt down to make sure—he had a lightening bolt scar on his forehead. Harry looked up at Ginny. "Why does he have…?"

"Because you touched the egg," explained Ginny knowledgably. "It imprinted itself onto you, so now you have a little brother. It will follow you around, mess with your things, discover all of your secrets, and reveal them at the most embarrassing of times. There is a specific secret encoded into it, and it _will_ find out the truth, and then it _will_ tell the whole world. After that, its job is done and a self-destruct sequence will begin."

Harry turned back to the miniature version of himself, which smiled impishly, and then began relieving itself onto Harry's clothing. Harry jumped back from the child in disgust. He cast a quick cleansing charm that got rid of the urine, but not the smell.

"Oh, and you have to teach it basic manners, discipline and such," added Ginny, "Or else it will go around doing things like that."

"But I don't know how—" began Harry.

"You've got to learn," said Ginny matter-of-factly. "This is your own fault, you know. You never should have touched the egg."

"So you keep telling me," muttered Harry.

The child ran over to Harry's trunk and pried it open with amazing strength for such a little guy, and began rummaging through Harry's things. Ginny nudged Harry in the side and Harry stepped forward, grabbing the child's arm. "No," he said. "Don't do that."

The child looked up and pouted, "But I _wanna_!"

"No," replied Harry firmly. "If I catch you doing that again, you'll have to go into Time Out."

The child sat down on the floor and began to cry. Harry knelt down next to it, at a complete loss. "Oh, don't cry," he pleaded. "I didn't mean to yell, I—"

Ginny grabbed Harry's arm and hoisted him up. She leaned over and murmured, "Never, _never_, apologize after you discipline him, or else he won't follow your instructions. And also, he'll act like a regular child in a lot of ways. You have to be _very _specific with your instructions. Sometimes he'll ignore them completely, but sometimes he'll catch you up in a technicality—anything to avoid Time Out."

"Oh Merlin, Ginny. Isn't there anything I can do to get rid of him?"

Ginny shook her head. "He's programmed to find a certain secret, and he'll wreak havoc on your life until he does. Good luck!" she sang.

She began to move toward the door, but Harry grabbed her. "Please don't leave me alone," he begged. "I don't know anything about kids!"

Ginny shrugged. "It's not a real kid. Oh, I almost forgot! Can I borrow your invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map?"

Harry gaped at her, stunned that she could be so blasé about this turn of events in his life. He felt like ranting that he had _thought_ they were friends, or some similarly self-pitying argument, but then a small Harry Potter was standing in between them, holding up the invisibility cloak and the Marauder's Map.

"Oh, thank you," said Ginny sweetly as she grabbed the goods.

"I told you to stay out of my trunk," snapped Harry. "Go to Time Out!" He pointed at the corner, but the child shook his head resolutely.

"You said that if you catch me in your trunk I'll have Time Out, but you didn't catch me!"

Harry gaped.

Ginny grinned.

"Very specific," she whispered, and then turned on her heel and slipped out of the room.

XIXIX

XIX

X

A/N: Ooh! I syked you _out_ with that sex scene, didn't I?! You _so_ thought that I was going to reveal that it really _was_ Harry, didn't you?! Who da man?! Yeah!

Suji's quilt is courtesy of my roommate Suji. Harry's little brother hatchling is courtesy of my roommate Daena. Anyone have any suggestions or requests for the next chapter?

And also, here's a small reader's contest: Name Harry's little brother!

Peace,

Kati


	6. Really Bloody Spectacular

X

XIX

XIXIX "Really Bloody Spectacular" XIXIX

Draco was having a fantastic time of it in the Room of Requirement, where he was having lots and lots of really bloody spectacular sex with "Harry Potter". It was, he would even go so far to say, one of the better afternoons he'd had so far this year. After awhile, he was even beginning to grow a little fond of the Prick-Who-Lived-And-Whose-Room-Of-Requirement-Double-Was-A-Bloody-Good-Lay-And-Who-Was-So-Spectacularly-Hot-Writhing-In-Ecstasy-And-Begging-For-Mercy-That-Draco-Really-Was-Feeling-Less-And-Less-Put-Out-Over-The-Fact-That-The-Room-Of-Requirement-Had-Seen-Fit-To-Provide-Him-With-This-Prick-To-Begin-With.

And his fondness only grew when he realized that for the first time in _days_ his inexplicable horniness was beginning to subside. Harry _bloody_ Potter of all people was actually satisfying him. And that idea, which surely should have outraged him, really just made that fondness grow.

It would have been utterly bizarre, he supposed, except that he _had_, to be fair, had really bloody spectacular sex all afternoon with this guy.

But keeping that in mind, it really did kind of make sense that Draco should maybe not hate the Gryffindor quite so much anymore. And feeling fondness for the Goody Two Shoe's Room of Requirement Double maybe wasn't such a bad thing.

And boy, the little bastard really was hot.

And you know, Draco really didn't have to get to the job fair _just _yet.

There was time.

XIXIX

Harry shifted from one foot to the other impatiently. There really wasn't time for this. He'd bolted from the job fair, no doubt giving the Aurors a really _bloody_ _spectacular_ idea of who he was as a person. He had to get back and fix things. He had his whole future riding on this weekend. He couldn't spend it locked in his room babysitting this… this… abomination!

Huge green eyes blinked up at him, and the little naked boy smiled. Cute as he was, Harry was not endeared to him. Because he knew that this boy was about to make his life a living hell.

"Okay," said Harry as kindly as he could muster. "These are the rules."

"You're not my dad!" screamed the kid suddenly. "You can't give me rules!"

"Yes I can," said Harry sternly, trying his best to imitate Professor McGonagall. The kid actually quieted down and listened, and Harry made a mental note to thank his Head of House for being so inflexible when it came to his own rule breaking.

"I'm in charge of you as long as you're here," Harry continued. "That means that you _must_ do as I say. Do you understand?"

The little boy nodded.

"Okay. The first rule is that you must always wear clothes—unless you are taking a bath," he added quickly. Ginny had warned him that he must be specific, and Harry suddenly had visions of the kid refusing to take his clothes off ever.

He walked over to his trunk and pulled out a set of muggle clothes he'd inherited from Dudley. He made quick work of shrinking them down, more or less, into the kid's size. He turned around and the boy was wearing a full set of Neville's robes—completely oversized, and hanging off of him adorably.

Harry bit back an '_awww_' and narrowed his eyebrows.

"I just made you these clothes. This is what you have to wear today."

"I can't!" said the little boy.

"Yes you can. Put these on now."

"I can't! I can't take these off because I'm not taking a bath. So I can't put those on."

Harry blinked. This was going to be harder than he thought.

XIXIX

Ginny stood at a stretch of blank stone wall and thought aloud. "Pure blood. No. Mudblood? No, of course it wouldn't be that. Wealth is power. Dumbledore sucks. Kill Harry Potter." She bit her lip.

"Open Sesame?"

It would, of course, be easier if some second-year Slytherin came through and said the password right in front of Ginny, who was hidden under Harry's invisibility cloak. But lacking that good fortune, Ginny would just have to stand here and guess.

"Salazar's Pride. House Champions. Potions class is cool. Dark Magic rules. I'm an evil bastard." Ginny took a deep breath.

She began to pace back and forth, and thought. The password wouldn't be something _she_ considered to be Slytherin. It would be something that the Slytherins considered themselves to be. Something smart and clever. Something cunning or even devious. It would be a word that no one would _ever_ consider the Slytherins using.

Ginny grinned.

"Please."

The stone wall opened, and Ginny walked in.

Finding Malfoy's room was actually easy enough. She just had to wander down the dormitory hall until she came across the very ornate golden 'M' placard on a door. The strange thing to her was that once she entered, it was clear that four boys shared this dormitory room. It was not Malfoy's personal quarters. So why exactly the Malfoy seal was on the door was anybody's guess. It was likely just an ego thing.

No matter.

Ginny flung off the invisibility cloak and reached into her robes' pocket. From its depths, she pulled out a weighty bag of The Powder of Love, and nearly couldn't stop herself from giggly maniacally. She felt like a kid in a candy store.

Malfoy's bed was clearly the one with the ornate 'M', his trunk the one with the ornate 'M', his closet the one with the ornate 'M', his desk the one with the ornate 'M', his personal bathroom sink and mirror, lined with all his personal toiletries, the ones with the ornate 'M'…

Ginny was honestly quite shocked at how easy Malfoy was making it to prank him by clearly marking all of his belongs with the Malfoy seal.

How stupid could he get?

No matter. Time to get to work.

Ginny set about spiking everything that he might possibly consume with The Powder of Love. Over the next half hour, she spiked his mouthwash, toothpaste, candies from home, case of butterbeers, and (_ooh!_) illicit stash of fine wines. The problem, she realized, was that there was no way to insure that he would get enough of The Powder of Love through toothpaste and mouthwash each day. And he likely did not eat candy or drink butterbeer _or_ wine everyday.

The only way she could insure that he got a proper dosage was to spike his food. But she couldn't do that on her own, because it would look rather suspicious if she made her way past his plate at least one meal each day.

Well, there was nothing to it. She would simply have to enlist the help of a House Elf.

XIXIX

Harry suddenly felt like he was the laughing stock of the whole school. Mostly, he felt this way because the moment he stepped foot back in the job fair at least half of the student body crowded around him—and began to point at him and laugh.

"Harry Potter has a little brother!"

"What an idiot! I can't believe he let the egg imprint itself on him!"

"_This_ is the guy who saved the wizarding world!"

Harry could feel his cheeks burning. He hadn't felt so uncomfortable and embarrassed in… well… hours. How was it that anyone else at the school would have know what that egg was besides him? Why was it always him? Why?

His new little brother, for his part, was cowering sheepishly behind Harry—hiding from the crowd. Harry instinctually placed his hand on the little boy's head and glared at the crowd.

"Hey! That's enough now," he shot at the masses. "You're scaring him. He's still brand new!"

His chastisement did not have the desired effect. Rather, everyone burst out laughing all over again.

"He's protecting it!"

"Is he stupid or something?"

"He can't feel sorry for it! It's gonna ruin his life."

Harry squeezed his eyes shut and let his head droop. This was awful. This was the worst day ever. No. This was the worst week ever. Harry wouldn't even have been surprised at that moment if God itself had opened up the skies, looked down and corrected him that no, as a matter of fact, Harry had the worst _life_ ever.

He really should just hide out the rest of the weekend. He couldn't go back to the Aurors' booth with a little brother. Then they'd know what a dunce he was. What a completely inept wizard he was. What a horrifically naïve loser he was. He should just go back in….

A tiny hand twisted itself into his sleeve and pulled urgently. Harry opened his eyes and found himself looking down into huge, absolutely terrified brilliant green orbs. He couldn't help it. His heart melted.

"Harry," the little boy whispered in a frantic whine, "Please, please, please, please, _please_ don't make me go out there."

"What's the matter?" asked Harry.

"It's too many people. It's overloading my senses. I can't be around this many people yet." The miniature Harry gulped visibly. "_It hurts!_"

Harry shook his head. "You know the rules," he said, "You have to stay with me at all times."

The huge green eyes began to water threateningly. And then Harry's little brother began to whimper, casting terrified glances at the throngs of people that continued to point and laugh, and who seemed to Harry all of the sudden to be rather loud and scary after all. He could see why the little tyke was having such troubles. But still….

"_Please,_ Harry," he sniveled. "Just let me go play. It _hurts_ with all these people around."

Harry's shoulders slumped a little.

"_Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease_. I'll be good. I swear."

"Okay," said Harry. "You may go play for fifteen minut… Hey! Come back here!"

But his charge was already gone, bounding back into the castle, and, Harry realized, probably going straight to his room to go through everything, including his trunk. Harry would never be able to catch him now. The kid was much faster than he looked.

But he would have to try.

XIXIX

As soon as Ginny was out of the Slytherin corridor, she pulled off the Invisibility Cloak and shoved it into her pack. She wasn't too far from the kitchens, and it tended to startle the House Elves when she appeared out of nowhere—they weren't too fond of the students randomly becoming invisible. And Ginny had a big favor to ask of one of them, and she'd have to be pretty crafty in how she presented her case. It wouldn't do to start off upsetting them.

She rounded the corner and ran _smack_ into Blaise Zambini.

"Ow! Watch it!" snapped Ginny, shoving past to continue on her way.

"Gryffindor bitch," muttered Blaise as he rubbed his forehead.

He moved to continue walking toward the Slytherin common room—he'd been looking for Draco for hours and was beginning to get worried—when a thought occurred to him and he stopped dead in his tracks.

He turned around slowly and followed with his eyes the streak of long red hair as it strutted annoyingly down the hallway and disappeared from sight.

She wasn't just a Gryffindor bitch. She was a _Weasley_ bitch. She was sister to those two assholes that were blackmailing Blaise with those so-incredibly-obviously-faked-that-only-a-complete-moron-idiot-dunderhead-could-possibly-believe-they-were-real photographs.

And the twins said they were expecting Blaise to get revenge. They counted on it. They thought it would be fun.

And their brother who was in Blaise's year was always, always, _always_ with Harry Potter.

And this girl apparently had no problems walking around Slytherin territory unescorted.

And it would really _get_ to the twins if he sought his revenge against them through… her.

Blaise continued on to the common room with a new sense of purpose in his steps. He had to work through an ultimate plot. This revenge would have to be something really bloody spectacular.

XIXIX

Draco was whistling as he headed through the halls to the job fair. He'd had a really bloody spectacular day. He was in such a good mood that he couldn't even be bothered to hate the annoying little Hufflepuff first years that had dared to walk past him without falling silent and trembling in fear.

Whatever. Good day. Nothing could ruin this mood.

He turned a corner to the corridor that led to the Entrance Hall and was nearly bowled over by a tiny blob of oversized red and black robes. In the moment that it took for Draco to register that this particular person seemed much smaller than the first years he had just failed to intimidate, he actually _was _bowled over by a much larger blob of oversized red and black robes.

Draco stumbled at the impact, but was able to keep from landing on the floor by executing a particularly agile move he'd been practicing all day—and landing on the person who'd run into him.

"What the hell's the matter with you!" he snapped as he pushed himself up. But then he couldn't speak because his heart had leapt into his throat. Instead, he grinned goofily. It was Harry _Four-Hours-Of-Great-Afternoon-Shagging_ Potter.

But Harry _The-Surprisingly-Gryffindor-Sex-God_ Potter did not even spare him a second glance. Rather, he scrambled to his feet and took off running full tilt after the tiny student who now had a very good lead. In two seconds flat his hurt at being snubbed at turned to self-righteous anger, and then straight back into the old habit of hatred.

The thing is, Draco Malfoy is not a stupid person. He was very well aware of the fact that he had _not actually_ slept with Harry Potter—many times—this afternoon. It was a figment. A recreation. And Harry Potter had no idea that this had happened.

And for that reason, Potter didn't actually have reason to stick around and say _two words even_ to Draco.

But really.

What the hell?

_He can't even say two words to me!_

Draco Malfoy was not about to accept that kind of snubbing from the idiot Gryffindor.

He took off running.

"Hey Potter! _Potter!_ Get back here and apologize to me!" he screamed as he ran down the hall.

"Sod off, Malfoy!" yelled Harry over his shoulder as he rounded a corner.

A second later, Draco rounded the same corner, raised his wand, and yelled, "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Harry's arms and legs snapped to his side and he hit the floor with a thud, but continued to slide for several more feet.

"_Oof!_"

Draco slowed his pace, and sauntered easily over to where Harry lay. With his foot, he rolled him over. Harry's robes pulled tight across his front, and as much as Draco hated him at that moment, he really found himself wanting to shag the guy all over again.

He glanced down and was grateful for his own robes. He turned his attention back to Harry.

"Well, well, well, Potter. In a rush, are we?"

"Rr-hrrh-rrh, Rrrh-rr."

"Tsk, tsk, Potter. I have a feeling that was some pretty foul language you were attempting there. Can't have that, can we?"

He really was so bloody hot, though. Draco could see the anger in his eyes. The frustration. The hatred.

Well, that was mutual, at least.

But still. It was rather turning him on.

"Hi!" said a voice brightly. Draco turned around quickly and found himself looking down at the red and black blob that had almost run him over. It was little, with an innocent look about it, messy black hair, huge green eyes, and, wait a minute…

Draco reached out and brushed the fringe of hair that toppled precariously over the kid's forehead.

"Oh Sweet Lady Fortune!" he exclaimed. "You are the most blessed of all Goddesses, and I will love you for the rest of my life!" He couldn't help the joy that washed over him. "So the Great Harry Potter went and got himself a little brother!"

Draco doubled over and laughed.

Harry made noises of anger and frustration, and would likely be threatening Draco right then had he been able to move at all. But also, Draco noted through his laughter, he seemed to be whimpering slightly.

"What's happening?" asked the kid, pointing.

Draco braced himself with his hands on his knees and looked up, following the imaginary line from the kid's finger to… a bulge at Harry's crotch. Draco began to laugh again. But he struggled for control. This was too good to screw up for some silly reason like hyperventilating laughter.

"It's ah… ahem… I'm going to teach you a few new words, okay? To describe what's happening to your big brother here?"

The boy nodded solemnly. It was ready to learn.

"Okay, what's happening to your brother is that he is developing a _boner_. Got that? Say it for me."

"Boner," said the little boy dutifully.

Harry began struggling to speak all over again. And failed. He seemed so pathetic and helpless and angry. It was awesome.

"And if you get tired of using that word," said Draco, attempting to mimic that condescendingly friendly tone Professor Sprout used with first years, "You can tell everyone that he has a _hard-on_. Can you say that?"

"Hard-on," the kid repeated.

"And also," continued Draco, enjoying his lecture, "What this means is that your brother gets really aroused whenever he is bound up and helpless."

Harry's little brother nodded.

"And if anyone…" Draco cut off and turned his head back toward the Entrance Hall. He could hear strong footsteps coming their way. It was the sort of purposeful stride that only a teacher would make. He quickly pointed his wand at Harry and muttered, "_Finite Incantatem_," and slipped into a shadowy corner where he could hide from view behind a statue of a gnarled-looking Forest Elf.

Harry spared one glare in Draco's direction. And if looks could kill, this one would have been homicide. He then turned to his little brother and hissed angrily, "Shut _up_, brat! Don't you dare say a word to anyone about—"

Just then, Professor McGonagall made her appearance in the corridor. Harry's brother took off running straight for her. "Guess what! Guess what!" he screamed. "Harry's got a boner! He gets really aroused whenever he's bound up and helpless!"

Draco shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from laughing out loud.

Professor McGonagall came to a complete stop and stared down at the kid. Hard. After three seconds, the kid's smile faded. Two seconds later, it took off running and went to hide from her behind Harry.

McGonagall came forward.

"Ah, Mr. Potter. I see you have a little brother."

Harry looked down at his feet. "Yes, Ma'am," he said.

"I assume you had no idea what it was until it was already yours?"

"Yes, Ma'am," said Harry.

"I see." Her mouth thinned into the second dimension and she began tapping her foot. "And did it never occur to you that perhaps it would be a _bad_ idea to touch an unknown magical item that appeared out of nowhere with your name on it?"

Harry's head migrated further toward the floor.

"No, Ma'am."

McGonagall was silent. Time seemed to freeze while she stood there, disappointed. Finally, after an eternity of shame had passed, she said, "Well, go ahead then. What did you name it?"

Harry looked up. "Name it?"

The Professor's eyebrows shot together. "Yes, Potter! Name it. What did you name it?"

"I… I didn't think to name it anything, Ma'am," he stuttered.

"What have you been calling it? Its name will be whatever it was that you first called it."

"I haven't called it anything!" whined Harry, as though he were trying to excuse himself from terrible trouble.

"You called me Brat," corrected the boy.

Professor and student both turned to the small head that was sticking out bravely from behind Harry's back.

Harry's mouth slacked open.

"You mean to tell me that I named my little brother Brat?" he said incredulously.

"It would seem so, Potter," said McGonagall. "I suggest you let it ransack your life as quickly as possible. I do _not_ want this dragging out for days, or—Merlin forbid—months! Do I make myself understood?" She glared down her nose and Harry seemed to crumble under the weight of her stare. The small head disappeared from view once again.

Harry nodded submissively and McGonagall stalked off.

"Months?" said Harry weakly, staring once again at the floor.

Draco finally let out the laugh he'd been holding in throughout their exchange.

Yes, yes. Harry _The-Bastard-Snubber_ Potter had a little brother. Good things were surely to come.

XIXIX

XIX

X


End file.
